


Armistice Summer

by Reading Redhead (readingredhead)



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingredhead/pseuds/Reading%20Redhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1806, Anne Elliot meets Commander Wentworth for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armistice Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glishara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glishara/gifts).



> Many thanks to araine for last-minute beta and encouragement!

_i. June_

Elizabeth had come down with an unseasonable cold, and in consequence of her being unable to attend the assembly, for the first time in Anne’s memory, she was introduced simply as “Miss Elliot.” Of course most of those in attendance knew her as Anne, just Anne, and that would not change, but she had so little to savour, and although she was not like Elizabeth (who, Anne was convinced, found delight in the title for the title’s sake), she liked the way it made people take notice.

The neighbourhood surrounding Kellynch-hall had never boasted many families, but from the size of the crowd in the assembly rooms, Anne was certain that all of them must have turned out for this assembly. There were Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd; their daughter, the new Mrs. Clay, with her husband standing solicitously at her side; every last Musgrove, including a few girls so young Anne marvelled at their being out in society; her father, speaking to Mr. Musgrove and eyeing the younger Musgroves with some disdain; Lady Russell, standing at Mrs. Musgrove’s side and observing the men’s talk; and in the corner, slightly apart from the rest, the Monkford curate in conversation with a man Anne had never met, but suspected to be Mr. Wentworth’s much talked-of younger brother, the naval officer who had received the rank of commander in consequence of the action off the coast of St. Domingo.

Anne did not realize she had been staring until Lady Russell appeared beside her and said, “Have you not been introduced to Commander Wentworth?”

“We are not acquainted.”

“I met him the other week when I was in town looking for a new pair of gloves,” Lady Russell said. “He seems an interesting fellow. Come, I’ll introduce you.” She hooked her arm through Anne’s and began to guide her through the milling crowds.

The brothers looked up at their approach. Mr. Wentworth nodded kindly at the ladies, and addressed Lady Russell, saying, “It is a pleasure to see you again. Miss Elliot, may I introduce you to my brother, Commander Wentworth?”

Anne curtseyed, and the commander bowed, but when she looked up his eyes were still on hers, and a rakish smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He was, Anne admitted, everything one would expect of a naval officer: tall, with a lean but muscled build shown off to good effect by his dress uniform, still young enough that the skin of his face and hands had not been permanently toughened by sea salt and adverse weather. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Elliot,” he said, that half-smile remaining in place even as he spoke.

“My brother is on leave at present, Miss Elliot,” Mr. Wentworth explained.

“For how long?” Anne inquired.

“That remains to be seen,” the commander answered. “Though if all of the assemblies are this well-attended, I may very well stay until winter.”

Anne smiled, feeling strangely at ease with him. There was something about his manner that appealed to her, and she found herself wishing that she might have the pleasure of joining him later that evening for a dance.

“Oh, but I dare say you’ll miss the open seas,” Lady Russell said, smiling benevolently. “Country life can provide constant comfort and occasional excitement, but little in the way of adventure.”

“True enough,” the commander replied, “but one cannot always go adventuring. And sometimes”—his gaze flicked sideways at Anne, though only for a second—“occasional excitement amidst general comfort is just what one needs.”

Anne was still deliberating as to the significance of that look when Mr. Wentworth decided to re-enter the conversation. “Lady Russell, you are too hard on this country life,” he said. “Surely, you have lived in this part of Somersetshire for many years without feeling yourself at a loss.”

“Oh, of course,” Lady Russell said. “But I am not a young man fresh from a long tour at sea!”

Commander Wentworth laughed. “There is some merit in your assessment, Lady Russell,” he said, “but you neglect to account for the things that a young man fresh from a long tour at sea might miss. Such as dancing.” And there was that half-smile again, as he took a half-step towards Anne and said, “You will save me a dance?”

Anne found herself mimicking Commander Wentworth’s smile as she said, “If you like, you may have the first.”

She was then obliged to leave his company, as another family approached and begged introduction, but when the musicians began to warm up, and she thought to look for him, she turned around to find him standing beside her. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

Anne couldn’t help smiling as he led her out into the space rapidly being cleared for use as a dance floor. They took their places at one end of the form, between couples with whom Anne was only slightly acquainted, but she cared not; her eyes were all for Commander Wentworth.

The music began, and all she could think of for a few minutes was dancing. This part of the country, it was true, did provide enough men that the women were not left to dance with themselves, but Anne’s sister was always given the privilege of the first dance, and despite Anne’s youth, she often was left sitting for the first round. But now she stood with a charming naval officer across from her, and she could not remember having danced with anyone better.

“You are remarkably light on your feet,” she commented, unable to keep the pleasant surprise from her voice.

“Dodging French bullets has a tendency to refine one’s agility,” he responded with a grin.

She allowed herself to laugh, bright-eyed and smiling. “I was not aware that many English naval officers had opportunity to come into contact with many French bullets.”

The commander smiled and said, “Not to disparage the captains I’ve served under—but I’ve been put in a situation or two where dodging bullets has been a useful skill.”

Anne could recognize bravado when she saw it in action, but the charismatic self-confidence that inspired his words drew her to him, making such objectivity impossible. “And what about when you are captain?”

This time the grin was fierce, and he had a far-off look about him as he said, “When I have a ship of my own, she’ll never be boarded. We’ll fight ship against ship, not man against man, and I’ll claim more in prize money than I could ever make in salary.”

The forms of the dance separated them briefly, and as Anne was handed from partner to partner, she thought about his comment, her imagination suddenly afire with the great battles and engagements of these wars in a way that the accounts of mere newspapers had never been able to incite. The man who danced so well across from her had fought for their nation against foreign forces, and returned victorious for the span of a summer. Had her admiration not been won yet, it would have been given over in full measure now.

“Do you miss it?” she asked when she returned to face him again.

“It’s as I told Lady Russell,” the commander said. “I have enjoyed my service, but it is good, at times, to be with family—and to have the pleasure of dances like these. One does not encounter very many ladies on the high seas.”

Anne blushed, but finished off the form in silence, not entirely sure how she ought to respond. Finally, as she and Commander Wentworth went up the dance, she said, “It must be hard to spend so much time away from the country you’re fighting to support.”

“But without the navy, someday I might not have a country to come back to,” Commander Wentworth replied. “I will admit, I’m incredibly fond of the profession. And it does reward those who are kind to it.”

“I am sure, then,” Anne said, “that you will be amply rewarded.”

The commander smiled and said, “So am I.”

The dance over, they bowed to one another. Anne was still flushed, her feet disbelieving; she wanted to continue dancing. There still remained another dance in the set, but after that—the rest of the evening would look so dull in comparison. She would have to dance with the Musgrove boy, and perhaps with some of the younger cousins as well. Charles Musgrove was not a bad dancer, but he was not a good conversationalist, and Commander Wentworth had spoiled her on both accounts.

So when he said, before the second dance had even begun, “Am I being premature to request another dance with you later this evening?”, it was as if someone had heard her innermost thoughts and decided, for once, to make them fact.

 

 _ii. July_

The party had decided to take a walk, making the most of the blue skies and fresh air of a Somerset summer. Anne, Elizabeth, and Lady Russell had walked together into town, where they had been met by several others who had been invited to share their leisure.

Commander Wentworth had agreed to be one of the party. Anne had hinted to him the last time they had met—at a dinner party over in the area of Monkford—that she was fond of country walks, he had responded that he was fond of Tuesdays; no more needed to be said.

They were well along their walk now. Anne had stopped to examine a pretty spray of summer roses, thinking that this might be the summer when she rediscovered her oils and canvas and began to paint. “After all,” she said to Wentworth, who had graciously offered to stay back with her, “my sister Mary will return from school this winter with far more accomplishments than I can boast. I shall have to stay in practice if I have any hope of keeping up.” She stroked the petal of a rose with a single finger. “Next I suppose I’ll have to improve at the piano.”

“I have never understood the female drive to acquire so many ‘accomplishments,’ as you call them,” Wentworth said. “My sister tried to explain it to me once, but I don’t think she understood it well herself. At any rate, she was never one for painting or playing the piano.”

“And now she makes a profession of following the Admiral to foreign lands,” Anne said, turning from the roses to face him. “If all women lived their lives aboard ships, I suspect we would set much less stock by painting and playing the piano, having important things that needed doing. But even those of us who cannot go to sea must have some means of amusement.”

“Well, you can always go on country walks with handsome naval officers,” he quipped back, and offered her an arm.

Anne took his arm. “For as long as handsome naval officers are in the country,” she said. “But you will have to leave—and then who knows if you will ever return?”

“Miss Elliot, are you doubting my ability to withstand enemy action?”

Anne had doubted no such thing; she could not imagine the Frenchman brash enough to wound him. But she was beginning to realize that she feared the possibility that he would do all he said he would—become a captain and a hero, acquire the prize money needed to set him up for life, and return to England without returning to _her_. “No,” she said, “of course not.”

If she was quieter than usual on their return to town, at least she felt sufficiently content in the thought that Wentworth would not have noticed.

 

 _iii. August_

Anne loved summer for a number of reasons, but high on the list was the length of the days, the fact that sunset would wait until seven or eight to arrive. When her father did not have company, he dined early, and so Anne often had the opportunity to take a walk in the grounds of Kellynch-hall after they had eaten. Sir Walter was quite proud of his shrubberies, but Anne preferred the slightly less manicured walks at the edges of the property, winding through stands of trees whose leaves filtered the late evening light in a flurry of greeny shadows.

Her mother had loved these walks. Anne could remember—just barely, it seemed—the time they had spent together here, in springs and summers long past, her mother a serene presence at Anne’s side. Now, Anne walked here alone, wishing for some of that ethereal calm that Lady Elliot had seemed to constantly possess.

A sound startled her, and she turned to peer through the dimming light. A man was walking toward her from the west, his features shadowed by the declining sun, but although she’d only known him for a few months, Anne would know that figure anywhere. “Commander Wentworth?” she said as he approached. “What brings you here?”

He stopped a few feet away, a hesitation she found uncharacteristic and surprising. “I—I remembered you sometimes took walks after supper,” he said.

Anne had mentioned it once, but then it had not been meant as an invitation. Still, she found that some company was better than none, especially when it was _his_ company. “Would you care to join me?” she said.

He answered by stepping over to her side and offering her his arm; Anne pulled her shawl a bit tighter against the twilight chill and took it.

They walked in silence for a time, following the path through the trees that wound around the back perimeter of Kellynch-hall’s grounds, until suddenly Wentworth said, “I’ve been offered an opportunity to return to sea.”

Anne could feel her muscles tighten, and the silence after this pronouncement grew tense around them, but by some unspoken agreement they continued walking. “As a captain?” she said, after a moment.

He shook his head. “I’d still be a commander, but on a better vessel,” he said.

She nodded. “When would you have to leave?”

“The ship sails from Portsmouth next week, headed back to the West Indies,” he said. “I’d have to leave within a day or so.” They had reached a break in the path, where the trees thinned out, providing a clear view of the sky. Commander Wentworth paused there, and looked up at the sunset. “It’s a good offer. But I can think of a better one...”

He broke away from her suddenly, leaving Anne feeling strangely bereft, and with a disquieting feeling that this short break could presage an even greater rupture.

“You would still have to leave,” Anne said into the silence.

Wentworth turned around, and in the dying light Anne could see a strange sense of purpose in his eyes. Gone was the sense of mischief—or if not gone, then at least subordinated for the moment to something more serious. “I will have to leave,” he said, walking over to her and gently taking her hands in his own, “but I would like to have to come back. Miss Elliot—Anne—might I have the honor of coming back to you?”

Was this what happiness felt like? Anne could do nothing but look up at Wentworth, then down at his hands that held hers.

“I know my circumstances are complicated,” he continued, “but I don’t have to leave right away—and when I do, it’s only a matter of time until I’m made captain. And then it’s only a matter of time until the prize money—”

“Yes.”

He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Anne with wonder, and a joy great enough to match her own. “Yes?”

Anne smiled. “Yes,” she said, louder this time, before leaning in to share the first of many kisses with her husband-to-be.

“Well,” he said a moment later, “I suppose I don’t have to leave quite yet…”


End file.
